Hi, my name is Kenadi Anderson, but all my close family and friends call me Ken. I grew up in a small town with the same friends I went to kindergarten with, and a year ago, if you had asked me how I felt about that, I would have told you I needed to meet new people. But now, I can’t imagine my life without them.
On May 7, 2024, my life changed forever. I was almost done with my junior year, getting ready for finals. I was so excited to become a senior and enjoy my last few months of freedom—until that was ripped away from me. It was a normal Tuesday, an ordinary day that turned into one I would never forget.
After school, my friends and I were talking in the parking lot, like we always did before heading to golf practice. I was sitting on the hood of my car, laughing and chatting, when one of my friends, thinking he was being funny, decided to take off in my car—with me still on it. The next thing I remember is sitting in the hospital, confused and disoriented. After that, my memories are a blur. The next two weeks passed in fragments—moments of pain, exhaustion, and uncertainty.
I had cracked my skull and suffered a traumatic brain injury. I lost complete hearing in my left ear and had to relearn the simplest tasks. But in all honesty, the physical recovery wasn’t the hardest part. Sure, I was in pain, but the mental battle was far worse.
I felt so alone. No one around me had gone through something like this, and I didn’t know how to cope. The life I had known—the one filled with sports, adventure, and independence—felt like it had been taken away from me in an instant. I was told I wouldn’t be able to play volleyball, the sport I had loved and dedicated my life to. I couldn’t do anything that summer that might involve hitting my head or straining my body. That meant no hiking, no swimming, no boating, and no volleyball.
I was crushed. It felt like my entire identity had been stripped away. I didn’t want to leave my house, let alone my bed. I saw no point in going out when I couldn’t do any of the things that made me feel alive. I convinced myself that I had no right to feel this way—after all, I had survived. Things could have been worse. But inside, I was drowning.
For months, I struggled in silence, pretending to be okay when I wasn’t. It wasn’t until I opened up—to my family, my friends, and eventually to a therapist—that I realized healing wasn’t something I had to do alone. I learned that my feelings were valid, that grief doesn’t just come from loss in the traditional sense, and that it was okay to mourn the life I once had.
Slowly, I started rebuilding. I found new ways to enjoy life, even if it looked different than before. I discovered strength in vulnerability and resilience in the face of uncertainty. My journey through mental health struggles has taught me more about myself than anything else ever could.
Now, as I prepare to take the next step in my life, I know that my story is far from over. My experience has given me a new perspective, a deeper appreciation for life, and a desire to help others who may feel like they are drowning too. This scholarship would be a testament to the battles I’ve fought and the resilience I’ve built.